


Anti-kink: Wing!kink

by ash_carpenter



Series: Anti-kink [25]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, M/M, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:50:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_carpenter/pseuds/ash_carpenter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Latest in my anti-kink 'verse (previous entries on open LJ: <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=ash_carpenter&keyword=Anti-kink&filter=all">here</a>), where I take perfectly good kinks and ruin them :) Just all-round cracktastic and angst-free fun with the boys. </p>
<p>Anti-kink: Wing!kink: Dean gets whammied by a harpy. No-one's very pleased with the results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anti-kink: Wing!kink

** Wing!kink **

 

Neither Sam nor Dean had ever conceived that wings might be considered a kink, until stumbling unfortunately on a particularly warped piece of slash fiction. However, they’d come to the unanimous conclusion that it was sick and wrong, probably due to the fact that it reminded them of angels – who were, as everyone knew, great big bags of dicks.

They’d forgotten all about it – until the day that Dean got whammied by a pissed-off harpy. 

They hadn’t thought too much about the talon wound and screeched invective at first, concentrating instead on taking her down and salting and burning the bitch. 

Then, later that evening, Dean had been absently scratching a persistent itch on his shoulder and he’d realised that he had an irresistible, inexplicable craving for corn.

He’d managed to successfully ignore it for a little while, chalking it up to his annual desire for something not cooked in grease, but then he’d found himself biting compulsively at his pen and his ring, which was just weird. However, it wasn’t until Sam asked him what the fuck he was doing and he looked down to find himself arranging scavenged towels and sweatshirts into a cosy circle on his bed that he really admitted that something was wrong.

“I think I’m making a nest.”

“Huh.”

“Is there any chance at all that I’m not gonna turn into a bird?”

Sam bit his lip. “Probably only half-bird.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Half-better?”

After hitting the books all night, they learned that the curse had died with the harpy, which was great news. Unfortunately, there was a lead time of a week before the symptoms would disappear.

“A week! What happens if I start eating worms or get the urge to poop on the car!”

Sam looked alarmed. “You don’t actually want to...?”

“What? No! Of course not. I’m just saying – this is only gonna get worse before it gets better.”

Sam nodded, eyeing his pacing brother speculatively. He kept massaging his chest and scratching at his shoulders and back, seemingly unaware of it. 

“Dean? I don’t want you to freak out. But...”

“But what?”

“There’s a chance you might get kinda, uh, wing-y.”

Dean blinked at him, shaking his head. “What? What do you mean ‘wing-y’, exactly?”

“You know. Bewinged. Wing-having. Possessed of a pair of wings.”

Dean looked absolutely horrified. “WINGS?! You tell me I’m gonna grow a gross pair of nasty, feathery, big-assed appendages and you don’t want me to freak out? Fuck, Sam!”

“Calm down, it’ll just be temporary. We’ll get through it, I promise,” said Sam soothingly. 

“No, Sam, you don’t understand.” Dean shook his head, pacing even more frantically. He seemed to finally realise what the scratchy sensation across his shoulder blades might be and made a conscious effort to ignore it, grimacing unhappily. “I don’t like wings. I don’t like birds. I never really recovered from Hitchcock... Oh, and you remember that seagull that ruined my orgasm when we screwed on the beach? Possessed little fuck.”

“At least you _had_ an orgasm,” muttered Sam, still a little bitter. 

“The point is, I don’t want a pair of fugly wings!”

“Well, I don’t want you to have a pair of wings, either. But it’s just a week and we’ll manage. Dean, this is not the worst thing that has happened.”

 

Dean looked sceptical. 

Never one to pass up an opportunity, Sam’s look turned a little sly and he sidled on over. “You know, you seem a little stressed about this. Why don’t you let me distract you?” He accompanied his offer with a suggestive eyebrow raise – and then a grope of Dean’s ass for good measure. Subtlety never really paid off when it came to propositioning his brother. 

“How can you think about screwing around at a time like this?” demanded Dean.

Taken aback, Sam stuttered a bit. “Well, uh, don’t you want to?”

“Yeah, of course _I_ want to,” replied Dean with an eye-roll, as if Sam was as thick as two short planks.

“Then why are you acting like I’m a sick freak?”

“Just because I want to fuck even when I’m turning into Big Bird, doesn’t mean that you have to be a pervert too. You could take the high road.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of fucking you? Because, seriously, I haven’t even _seen_ the high road since I started taking it up the ass from my big brother.”

“Fair enough,” shrugged Dean. “But it’ll totally be your own fault if I start pecking you.”

Sam eyed Dean thoughtfully. “Just in case, why don’t I screw you face-down?”

“Sure,” agreed Dean easily. “Then if my back explodes mid-orgasm, you can have a face-full of slimy, gore-covered wings.”

“EW! Gross, Dean,” complained Sam, fighting the urge to gag. “Okay, new plan: you’re riding me.”

Dean nodded and turned to head for the bed, smirking triumphantly when his back was to Sam. Ha! Freaking out his little brother just never got old, no matter how very far from platonic their relationship had become in recent years. 

He forgot all about his victory a moment later as he was tackled onto the bed and Sam rolled him over, growling playfully against his neck. 

“Someone’s eager,” commented Dean with a smile, and he most certainly wasn’t complaining. He shoved Sam onto his back and straddled him, grinding down against his body and sliding busy hands up inside his shirt.

“Wanna fuck you while you’re still vaguely human,” murmured Sam, grabbing hold of Dean’s ass and pulling him close.

“Vaguely...?”

Before Dean had the opportunity to be affronted, one of Sam’s sexy big hands slid over his crotch and all his thoughts flitted away on the breeze. He pushed into Sam’s hand over and over, rubbing his ass against Sam’s dick, soon finding that he was just as eager as he’d accused his brother of being. 

“Off,” demanded Sam, tugging at Dean’s clothes. They somehow both managed to strip down with Dean remaining seated in Sam’s lap, and Sam wrapped his hands around Dean’s bare hips and pulled him down harder, biting at his lower lip. “Jesus, that’s sexy.”

“If you like that, then you’re gonna love this,” said Dean with a slightly sleazy grin that Sam was far gone enough to find hot. Dean rose up on his knees and began to finger himself open, letting Sam get a good view of him working at his hole while his cock bobbed in the air. Sam groaned and leaned up on his elbows, straining forward so that he could lick over the head of Dean’s dick.

“I do love it,” he admitted, lapping a drop of pre-come. “I’ll love it even more when you’re bouncing on my cock, so hurry it up.”

“Bossy,” chided Dean, squeezing his thighs around Sam’s hips and rocking back and forth, dragging his balls and ass against Sam’s dick. 

Sam cursed and clamped his hands around Dean’s hips, fingers digging in hard. “Come on, Dean, please?”

“That’s it, Sammy,” smiled Dean. “Beg me for it.”

“Dean! You’re such a goddamned tease! Just fuck me, come on.” He tried to manoeuvre Dean onto his shaft, and when that didn’t work, he turned pleading, puppy dog eyes on him. “Please, big brother?”

“Fuck,” breathed Dean, reaching behind himself to get a hand on Sam’s cock and get it positioned just right. “You’re such a cheater.” But he was panting as he pushed his ass back and slid onto Sam, which made both of them groan and grip one another tightly. 

“God, yes,” murmured Sam, dragging Dean’s body down to blanket his so that they could kiss. 

Sam began to thrust as much as he could from his supine position but Dean insisted on controlling the motion, riding him hard. Their skin slapped together and they worked up a sweat between them, Dean’s dick leaving tacky smears all over Sam’s belly. They kissed deep and dirty, mapping out one another’s mouths and biting softly at each other. 

Dean suddenly stopped, body freezing. As Sam looked at him questioningly, wondering why the hell he looked so freaked out, Dean sat bolt upright.

“What is it?” asked Sam raggedly, unable to stop his hips shifting restlessly beneath Dean.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing a condom?”

“ _What_?”

“What if you fertilise me and I lay an egg?”

Closing his eyes against the disturbing image, Sam ran a hand over his face and then bounced his fingers off Dean’s cock, making it boing up and down. “I think you’re a boy bird.”

“You don’t know how this damned curse works!” snapped Dean. “This isn’t the time to be rolling the dice.”

“Okay, well, since you apparently think you’re a hen, let me break it down for you. Whether I ‘fertilise’ you or not won’t affect whether you lay any eggs. You think battery hens spend all day getting boned?”

Dean looked horrified. “You mean they have to lay all those eggs and they don’t get any sex?! No wonder people buy free range.”

Sam gaped at him. “That’s not why... You know what? Never mind. My point is that me fucking you without a rubber won’t make any difference, so can you please shut up and get back to work?”

“What if I’m a different type of bird? Like a swan. Or an emu. Or something cool like an eagle or hawk... Yeah, I’m probably one of them.”

“Oh my God, you’re not gonna lay an egg, okay?” shouted Sam. Of course, he couldn’t be completely sure about that, but he was pretty confident. At least, he was pretty horny, so it seemed worth taking the risk. “Now shut up, or you’re gonna be a duck.”

“What does that mean?” demanded Dean. And why the fuck did Sam know so much about bird sex? He’d probably taken a class in it at Stanford or something, the pervert.

“Let’s just say that male ducks aren’t all that fussy about whether their partners want to put out or not. No-one likes a tease, Dean.”

Dean began to move again, giving Sam a dubious look. “I don’t think you’re taking this sufficiently seriously.”

“I could say the same to you,” retorted Sam, wrapping his hands around Dean’s ass and trying to get him to put his back into it.

Dean rolled his eyes, but began to bump and grind like Sam wanted, soon shaking off his misgivings and getting into it, helped along the way by Sam’s clever hand fisting his dick. As his lust roared back, he leaned down again to search out his brother’s mouth, and Sam arched up against him, wrapping his arms around his back.

“Jesus, Dean, you’re so – AH!”

“What?!” shouted Dean in alarm, noting that Sam had ripped his hands away from him as if he’d been scalded.

“Uh, nothing. Just...”

“ _What_?” insisted Dean.

“Your back kinda...moved. Like the bones were shifting.”

“Oh my God!” squeaked Dean, trying to look over his shoulder to peer at his back. He was still itching, and the whole area felt warm and a bit strange, but he hadn’t noticed any movement, unless – oh! He wriggled at the odd shifting sensation beneath his skin. “Wow. That’s so gross.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Quick, let’s hurry up – I wanna come before you grow any new appendages.”

“You’re all heart,” muttered Dean, but he obediently started moving again. It was hard to concentrate because he kept holding his breath, trying to feel whether his back was doing anything it shouldn’t. As he clenched around a somewhat oblivious Sam, undulating his body, he felt a very definite rending down the lines of his shoulder blades. It didn’t hurt like he had expected, but it was very perturbing.

“Sam...”

“Fuck, Dean,” mumbled Sam, thrusting up hard into his body and lost in his own lust-fogged world. “So good, gonna make me come...”

“Yeah, great. But I just think you should be aware that –”

“Nearly there, come on – just a little harder,” groaned Sam, reaching up to hook his hand around Dean’s neck and opening his glazed eyes.

Dean only felt an unusual sliding sensation as the wings slipped free of his back, but it was pretty hard to miss the fact that they unfurled with a solid _whump_ and spread wide, blocking out most of the light and splattering blood and fluid halfway around the room – and all over Sam.

Sam screamed as the monstrous black wings burst out above his brother like they were in some cheap horror flick. Dean reflexively screamed himself and reared away from his brother, falling off his cock and tumbling off the bed in a backwards roll.

“Dean!” yelled Sam, scrambling to the end of the bed and peering down. He found Dean in a messy heap, half underneath one wing while the other pointed uselessly at the ceiling.

“Help!”

“Just hold on,” said Sam authoritatively. He then paused, at a complete loss. He supposed that he could help pull Dean to his feet, but then he’d need to touch the nasty wet wings, which were fluttering spastically and creeping him the fuck out. 

Dean was still for a few moments, then he huffed agitatedly. “I’m holding on, Sam. Now what?”

“Uh.”

“For fuck’s sake,” grumbled Dean, flailing on the floor for a little while before he managed to get on his knees and push up to his feet, shaking out his dripping wings and almost falling over when his centre of gravity wasn’t quite where he was expecting it to be. “So. That happened.”

“Yeah,” agreed Sam with a disgusted grimace. He wiped some wing-gore off his face. 

Dean turned to look at himself in the mirror, knocking over a lamp and almost thwacking Sam upside the head. “Fuck! Stupid wings.” He regarded himself miserably, trying to spread the wings out to get a good look and frowning when one pointed off into the corner and the other wrapped itself in front of his body. He wondered where he could get hold of an instruction manual. Trying to make himself feel better, he ventured, “I guess they’re pretty badass. Like...Batman?”

“No,” refuted Sam instantly. “Not like Batman. More like Mangy Old Crow-man.”

Dean slumped in defeat. “I need a shower.”

“Damn right,” agreed Sam, still giving him the stink-eye.

“Will you come help me?”

“Not a chance in hell,” Sam said, shaking his head emphatically. 

Dean turned to face him, feathers ruffling agitatedly. “Look, I’m sorry that you didn’t get to come, but –”

“That’s really not it,” interrupted Sam. “Trust me, I am no longer turned on. Seriously, I might never come again.”

“All right, no need to rub it in,” groused Dean. He looked beseechingly at his brother. “Please? I won’t be able to wash them by myself.”

Grudgingly, Sam agreed. It took quite a bit of shifting, squeezing and cursing for them both to fit in the cubicle with the wings, and Sam found himself plastered against the glass with a face full of feathers on several harrowing occasions, but Dean eventually managed to get things under vague control. Face scrunched up in disgust, Sam soaped up the wings, washing off all the blood and...whatever that other icky shit was. 

Running his hand over the bone and then down the major coverts, Sam recalled the snippet of wing-based fanfic he’d read from morbid curiosity and asked Dean suspiciously, “Does this turn you on?”

“Does what turn me on? You and me can’t even have good shower sex when there _isn’t_ a spare set of limbs getting in the way.”

“Me touching you like this? Does it make you wanna, I don’t know, shiver and shudder and does it feel like there’s a direct line to your dick?”

Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam with raised eyebrows. “Uh, no, you massive freak. It’s just like you’re washing my arm or something. What fuckin’ use would it be to a bird if they got horny every time they brushed their wing up against something?”

Dean had a point, conceded Sam. As if he needed any further proof that fanfic was stupid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you think I can fly?”

Sam smiled to himself. “No, but I really hope I get to see you try.”

“Why not? I have big-assed wings; I might be able to.”

“You have big ass, period. Birds have hollow bones and are incredibly light. You’re...”

“I’m what? Are you calling me fat?” Dean sounded outraged.

“Are you a pre-menstrual woman as well as a bird?”

“Hey! That’s my line!”

“I’m just saying, don’t take it so personally. I’m not calling you _fat_ , but you’re pretty heavy for a bird. There’s no way you’re defying all laws of physics and getting your ass in the air.”

Dean’s shoulders slumped as he accepted the reality of it.

“But on the bright side, you’re pathetically terrified of flying anyway. So at least you won’t have a heart attack from the trauma or pee yourself or something.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“No problem, man.”

“So...wanna fool around?” Dean asked hopefully. 

“Nope.”

“Sammy! You can’t leave me with blue balls until this whole wing thing blows over,” whined Dean, pouting just a little and trying to look cute.

“If you wanna jerk off, you knock yourself out, big brother. Until those ugly-ass things have dropped off, I’m not touching you with a ten foot pole,” asserted Sam, flicking the page of his book over and settling more comfortably against the headboard, not even bothering to spare Dean a glance. 

“You suck.”

“Not this week, I don’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean looked suspiciously at the door when he heard the knock. He and Sam shared a glance and he slipped off the bed, pulling his gun out of his waistband as he crossed the room.

Taking a breath, he swung the door open.

“DING DONG MERRILY ON HIGH!!!!!!!”

“Argh!” yelled Dean, surprised to be serenaded by what sounded like roughly thirty thousand carollers. In his shock, his wings burst out from their position tucked against his back and spread wide.

“ARGH!!!!!” chorused the carollers tunefully.

“Um...” he stalled, trying desperately to tuck the recalcitrant bastards back in. “It’s not what it looks like. It’s...a Halloween costume. Yeah.” He thought he had everything under control when one of the wings pulled an unexpected unfurling move on him and tripped up a small child. “Sorry!”

“My Lord,” breathed a middle-aged woman, putting her hand to her mouth. “He’s an angel!”

“What’s that now?” asked Dean. He realised that, standing in the motel doorway, he did look backlit and sort of glowy.

“An angel!” they all took up the shout, some of them falling to their knees on the dirty concrete of the motel forecourt.

“No, no, wait,” said Dean, waving his hands. “Get up. Seriously. I’m not an angel. I’m not a douchebag. There’s nothing to see here – I’m just a regular guy who...uh...got slightly mauled by a harpy. No big deal.”

The poor child he’d knocked over staggered to her feet and said rapturously, “We learned about you in school! You’re the Angel Gabriel! You told the Virgin Mary she was having the baby Jesus!”

Dean scowled at her. “Okay, first off, I’m not, like, four feet tall. And trust me, the real Gabriel probably personally put that baby in Mary, if you know what I’m saying.”

“No?” questioned the little girl, scrunching up her face.

“Ah. Right. Never mind, it wasn’t really child-appropriate.”

A few of the adults seemed to be cluing into the fact that Dean probably wasn’t Gabriel. Dean wondered how much it would take to convince the others.

“Hey, bro, are you getting your ass back in here or what?” shouted Sam, who had heard just one bar of a song and incorrectly assumed that Dean had sent the carollers packing. “I’ve changed my mind: you can blow me if you promise to keep those damned things under control.”

Yeah, that would probably do it.

Deciding that a well-timed exit stage left was in order, Dean turned around and tried to shoulder his way back into the motel room. Sadly, he hadn’t yet figured out how to efficiently tuck his wings back in and he ended up wedged in the doorway, wriggling furiously. 

“Sammy! Help me!” he pleaded, holding out his hands.

Dean looked so alarmed and pitiful that Sam decided to take pity on him. Grabbing hold of his hands, he began tugging, grunting with the effort.

“Come on, you pussy,” grumbled Dean, and Sam retaliated with an arm-wrenching yank.

For another few seconds, it seemed like Dean was stuck, but then he abruptly popped into the room in a ferocious rustle of feathers and they tumbled to the floor, Dean landing heavily on top of Sam. Seeing the shocked faces of the assembled carollers, Sam shifted his foot and decisively kicked the door closed.

“This is so not awesome,” pouted Dean, burying his face in Sam’s neck and unconsciously seeking comfort.

“I know,” agreed Sam soothingly, carding his hands through Dean’s hair. “It’s not for much longer.”

Dean sighed, settling more heavily on Sam. His wings naturally wrapped around the both of them, creating a safe little cocoon. 

Sam held his breath for a moment, wondering whether the hell he was going to freak out, but he slowly relaxed. It was actually sort of nice and warm, even if they were lying on a shitty motel carpet. He held Dean a little more tightly.

Realising suddenly that an uninformed bystander might describe what they were doing as ‘snuggling’, Sam cleared his throat awkwardly.

“You know, having wings is kinda gay. You look like a fairy.”

As Sam was smothered with a wing, he gave what could only be described as a girly scream through a mouthful of feathers, and they ended up having a bit of a pathetic tussle, rolling around on the floor and knocking into things with various ungainly limbs. Eventually, they called a truce, shoving each other around and saying “dude” a lot until they reasserted their manliness. 

“So... Were you saying something about blowjobs?”

“Yeah. Can we turn out the light?”

“Sure. If you wanna take the risk of one of these bad boys sneaking up on you in the dark?” said Dean with a shit-eating grin, flexing his wings and feeling pretty damned pleased with himself: he was totally getting the hang of controlling them.

Dean rolled his eyes as he accidentally over-flexed and the window pane to his left smashed.

Sam smirked. “That was so nearly cool.”

“Shut up.”

 

 

THE END


End file.
